One of these days...

... I'll send that email I keep writing.

It changes every time I write it. And sometimes writing it is a cathartic experience, and sometimes it just reinforces all the hopelessness. Sometimes it's only two lines long. Other times it's page after page after page.

Sometimes it has teeth, and it's too close for comfort. Sometimes it has eyes, and they're glowing blood-red in the dark small hours. Sometimes it's just the husk of words that ripened and fell to the forest floor when nobody was listening. And sometimes it has wings, and it hovers just out of reach, and it's then that I'm most afraid to send it, because I know I'd never get it back again.

Send. Don't send. Keep writing, keep talking, keep dropping pennies into the well. Make a wish, make a promise, make a bet, make amends, make a move, make a gods-cursed mess of the whole damn thing, make a monster you can't control, make one spark in the dark, make your mark.

Sometimes it's the last thing I write. And other times it's the first.

Summer...

... is now officially over.

Learning to cry for fun and profit

No food in the house. No energy to go out and buy food, or to do anything interesting instead. Will probably be awake till 3am again now though because of the caffeine; I thought it would be worth staying awake today, despite the sore throat and cough and cold, despite the tiredness.

Currently bidding on things I can't afford on eBay, so that I get new email when I get outbid.

* * *

I love this user icon, I can still remember the crackly heat of the room where the photo was taken, dry and thick and heavy. The dusty blinds, the pools of sunlight, the hard floors. The room was a hollow shell, a skin that somebody else's life had sloughed off, used and discarded and empty.

In so many of my memories I'm only an onlooker, a recorder of detail; I wish I could achieve the same distance from the here and now. But the only thing I can do is keep shuffling off my memories into the past, faster and faster, until there's nothing here in the room with me but dust and heat and light.

Was: Re: Worried

*breathes again*